Spring Babies

In an attempt to attract mothers to be, I put up a couple of luxury wooden penthouses in secluded parts of the garden. These were summarily ignored for cosy nooks between the roof and the trim. I may have misjudged the type of bird; upscale was not their thing, utilitarian with sticks and a bed of pine straw is more their milieux. I've counted five nests so far; two between roof beams, one in the wood pile, and one in each of the Abelias. I am so looking forward to watching the parents happily flapping around finding seeds, fruits and maybe worms to feed the ever open mouths when the eggs finally hatch.

This may have to fulfill me through the grandparent years, as I don't think I'm going to be one. Both my daughters have interesting lives within which there is little space for the mewling young.

'Aren't you lucky to have such out of the ordinary kids,' says daughter Joan. Joan takes bohemian to an unprecedented level. And while I admire this somewhat, sometimes a little ordinary is ok. My generation of parents, I think, are seeing monumental changes in how their kids lead their lives and how they see their role in the world. My parents probably thought the same thing, but this seems a little more of a chasm than between Mozart and Metallica.

Back to the garden. As my dogs have a sense of humor and screaming bladders, I am usually out in the grass by 6am and I've noticed the more persistent birdsong. Ornithologists will put me right, but I like to think that it's a call for early morning flirtations that will lead to more nests and eggs. Listening to the birdsong, as I have, every early morning since the dawn of dogs, it's only natural to try to interpret their message. While most of it sounds like nonsense; pee woo whit; chew, chew, chew; li, loo, te, te, I followed a tune this morning that began nonsensically but ended in a very definite 'over 'ere!'

If that's not a call for early morning feather fluffing, not sure what is!